


structure of character

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mostly Gen, Scars, probably set post s1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: “All I’m saying is, next time you might not be so lucky.”… yeah, maybe not. Maybe he dies the next time; even though he doesn’t want to think about it, Jaskier knows it’s a very real possibility and Geralt can’t protect him forever.Jask gets his first proper scar. Geralt broods.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 45
Kudos: 729
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY





	structure of character

He’ll be the first to say: the new scar is going to be distracting. It’s technically his first real one, because he doesn’t think the scrape on his knee from childhood really counts. This is the first scar from the real world, from Geralt’s world; those kinds of scars were always going to be different, and worse, and distracting.

It’s not so bad, really. It’s just a little thing, barely five centimetres long and nowhere near as wide or deep. But it’s a _scar,_ a slightly raised patch of skin just below his ribs, and it’s new. It’s distracting. Jaskier lays curled in his bedroll, trying to sleep, and he finds his fingers edging beneath the part of his shirt that’s rucked up, and he finds himself touching at his new, very own scar. A back and forth motion of the pad of his fingers over the skin, memorizing the path and tapered edges of it. Trying not to remember the pain, but he can, even if most of the hours spent following the injury had been a blur.

It doesn’t hurt now, not really. It had only been this morning, the attack on the road, and Jask doesn’t know what Geralt and the mage healer had done to have it heal over so quickly, but it has. And so, a scar, one he’s told he was lucky hadn’t been worse, all things considered.

He thinks the actual injury had been pretty bad, but he can’t really remember. Probably for the best. He doesn’t really need to linger on near death experiences, anyway.

Anyway, there’s something oddly soothing about feeling over that scar, now. Something emotional, too, terrifying and uncertain. But it’s sensation beneath his fingers, and Jaskier doesn’t really notice he’s back to stroking at it until Geralt speaks beside him.

“There’ll be more.”

He goes a little flush when he realizes what he’s doing, that Geralt knows he’s feeling up his own scar– but, hey, it’s his own! Something about it just feels… intimate, he thinks, even though Geralt’s got scars Jaskier can’t imagine and never seems bothered by them. Different states of mind. He swallows and withdraws his hand. “Oh, well,” he says, uselessly, and smooths his shirt back into place. “I don’t mind it so much. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Other ones might.”

Jask frowns. “Well, thanks for that, Geralt. That _really_ helps.”

The smart response he expects… doesn’t come. He shifts a bit, just enough to glance towards over his shoulder where Geralt’s settled behind him. He isn’t as warm as a _normal_ human, Geralt, and Jask has always vaguely wondered if that’s a _witcher_ thing or just a _Geralt_ thing, but he can still feel the press of his warmth from where their backs are nearly touching. Geralt’s quiet and unmoving and… brooding. He’s brooding. Of course he is.

Jaskier opens his mouth to say something, and then… closes it. He doesn’t remember earlier, not really, but he knows Geralt had been the one to haul him to safety (again.) Geralt had been the one to take him to the healer (again.) Geralt had been the one who hadn’t _protected_ him in the first place– and it’s only just about now Jaskier’s starting to realize how he’s been taking that for granted, huh– and even though he doesn’t fault him and Geralt doesn’t process things that way… what if he _was._ Feeling guilty.

Oh, but Jaskier doesn’t really know how to _handle_ that. _He’s_ the irrational, emotional one, tempered only by Geralt’s logic and take no bullshit type of behavior. And, yeah, okay, he _knows_ Geralt gets bothered by more things than he would ever like to let on, but Jask still isn’t good at handling that kind of Geralt. He sees it so very rarely.

… he aims for a joke. “Really, it’s better in the long run. Scars, you know how sexy they are.” That falls flat. Jaskier tries again. “Women see a _tiny_ little scar and their underthings just fall off.”

It hits the mark, a little. Geralt scoffs a bit, and gives the usual hum of no-comment. But it’s a reaction, so that works.

“They’ll roll over for me now, Geralt.”

“Thought they did that already.”

Jaskier smiles into the blankets. “They’ll roll over twice, then.”

“Huh.” He’s quiet, for a minute, and Jaskier is starting to think that’s that, then, before “all I’m saying is, next time you might not be so lucky.”

… yeah, maybe not. Maybe he dies the next time; even though he doesn’t want to think about it, Jaskier knows it’s a very real possibility and Geralt can’t protect him forever. It’s not his place to, anyway. But he doesn’t think he can really lecture a witcher on responsibility here. Still, he rolls over, shuffling onto his back so he can look in Geralt’s general direction and try to be a little serious, because this is important.

“I’m here because I chose to be, Geralt. I know the risks.”

“You really don’t.”

“Yeah I do.”

_“Jaskier.”_

“Fine, I’m… _starting_ to,” Jaskier interrupts. “I… I didn’t know, obviously, but these things, out here… yes, it’s _terribly_ dangerous but the rewards outweigh the risks.”

“Can’t imagine what you think you get out of this.”

_More than you know._

He doesn’t want to get into that. He… doesn’t think he can, actually. He’s still figuring it out himself. But there’s things, he thinks, as he folds his hands on his chest. The night is cool and clear. Starlight through the treetops. It’s beautiful. 

Right from the moment he’d followed Geralt from the tavern, it’s been that way. It’s been messy, and unpredictable, and yeah, even dangerous. But it’s given him so much. It’s given him firsthand experience with things most humans never got to see (some things people probably didn’t want to see.) It’s made him open his eyes, reinvented his way of thinking, made him _better._ It’s… it’s given him something to look forward to, given him… friends. Not many, mind, and he still isn’t sure if Geralt would even use that word (Jask doesn’t take offense to that, though, either way) but… he has friends. He has companionship. He has… well, he’s got someone to care for besides himself.

He’s never considered himself a particularly selfish person. He’d say he was quite _giving,_ in fact, except… except he doesn’t know, these days. So, he does want to be better for Geralt just as much as he wants to be better for himself, too.

He wants to help people. In this case, at this moment, it’s Geralt. He wants to help Ciri, and Yen, too, inasmuch as she needs it which probably isn’t _much,_ but… it’s his job to bring joy to people. He’s used to doing that through music. But being out with Geralt, going through these adventures, _learning_ about the world, Jask thinks he… might be managing in other ways than just words, too.

At least, he _wants_ to believe that.

“It’s just… what I like,” he settles on. “It’s what I want to do.”

“Follow me around,” Geralt intones, and Jaskier laughs.

“Well, _someone’s_ got to tend the wounds you can’t reach, and I do have _very_ caring hands.”

“You’ve got something, all right.” Geralt’s shoulders heave in a sigh, and… then he starts to roll over, which means he’s going to stop brooding, which means Jask’s done _something_ right. Praise the gods. “Although I’ve yet to figure out what,” Geralt continues, and Jask tries not to laugh at the joke made to his own detriment. Instead, he shuffles over to make room, and revels in breaking the dour atmosphere.

“Endless charm, beauty, a wonderful singing voice,” he lists, and Geralt groans.

“Here we go.”

“Oh, we’re going. I’m sensitive, caring, can do _countless_ things with my hands, or tongue–”

“Fuck, Jaskier, _stop.”_

“You don’t want to know what I–”

 _“No.”_ Geralt shoves him. “It’ll put me off for a year.”

“Be _nice,”_ Jask complains, and shoves back. He doesn’t mind. He really, really doesn’t. “Monsters may be _your_ area of expertise, but, I, Geralt, am a _lover_ at heart, therefore–”

_“Jaskier.”_

He laughs, and relents. He’s done his job here. More or less. He’s never going to be able to repay Geralt for all of this, but he’s going to try. Even if it’s just a little. “Thank you, Geralt,” he says, seriously, and settles back in comfortable to sleep.

“Don’t thank me.”

 _I’m alive,_ he doesn’t say. He doesn’t think Geralt would like it, and he doesn’t want to argue. _I’m more alive than I ever was._

“Too late,” Jaskier says instead, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The scar’s going to be distracting, but Jaskier will take it. It’s a good distraction, a new reminder of a painful truth of everything he has and everything he can lose. Everything he wants to hold onto. If he’s got to take scars to hold on those things, so be it. Witchers and warriors weren’t the only ones fighting to protect what they loved.

He might only be a bard, but it was time to fight for his story, too.

_“My scars tell a story.  
__They are a reminder of times when life tried to break me, but failed.  
They are markings of where the structure of my character was welded.”_  
  
– Steve Maraboli

**Author's Note:**

> i love reworking the ideas of scars in fics, i do it for every fandom, here's my proper submission for physical scars in witcher tv... but no way Jask goes out following a witcher and never gets hurt... and Geralt gets more and more guilty, every time Jask comes out with a mark that lasts, though he never really says that out loud (of course he doesn't)


End file.
